A silver circle of ice, floating in a striated stream, between midnight blue and black, contains a drowning water woman, or one emerging, being born.

The blue fingers of her raised left hand are melting. Water drips from fingers, streams towards third eye. Head tilted back, neck raised, she is swooning. Can one swoon while disappearing?

"I am the moon." She whispers more quietly, " I was the moon, I am surrendering. Tonight is darkest phase of a dying moon. I am trapped in this circle every cycle. Each time I almost remember I will be reborn. Silence encircles, feels the water receive my offering, ice welcomed by startling sea.